


Candle and Snow

by GooseWhiskers



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Captivity, Catharsis, Depression, F/M, Fire, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Healing, Major Original Character(s), Mental Health Issues, Metahumans, Multi, Original Character(s), Pyromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:43:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooseWhiskers/pseuds/GooseWhiskers
Summary: While grieving the death of his best friend, Nightwing rescues a young metahuman who's never lived outside the Institute. Kit Friar can barely control her powers and doesn't know a thing about the real world - but she's got spirit, and Grayson can't help but admire it.Takes place after season 2 of the tv series! Frequent time skips between chapters, I just sketched the parts that seemed most interesting at any given moment xD Hopefully they're still coherent! The bulk of these were written a couple years ago and recently dug up again. Kit Friar is an OC of mine created as a metaphor for depression/anxiety, and Young Justice was some serious TLC for me at the time haha





	1. Pulling Raccoons Out Of Garbage Cans

OCTOBER 2, 9:40PM

Dick Grayson

 

Space. Time. He hadn’t known how much he would need until it felt… okay, again. But this wasn’t long enough.

 

He knew this was the right thing. He just didn’t want to do it.

 

That was a new feeling. Wishing he could put his responsibilities away, like a photograph in a drawer. To know it was there, just… not have to think about it. But after all these years, intervention was instinctive. It wasn’t a switch he could flip off.

 

The unknown metahuman stared at him from across the bolthole, wary and feral, with eyes like a fox. It had been a calculated risk, taking her to this place. But what other options were there? He had no idea how far the reach of her captors went, his own safehouses were the only places Nightwing knew would be secure.

 

And the mission always came first. At least now the only unknown demanding immediate attention was _her_ and that was shaping up to be quite enough to deal with.

 

“You’re safe here.” He explained.

 

Her brow furrowed with suspicion; she shifted her weight as though she might be about to dash.

 

 _Not fond of cages_ , he guessed. “I’m here to help you.” Nightwing insisted, giving a faint smile. He motioned to the room. “Nobody else knows about this place.”

 

 _Not anymore._ The rogue thought hit him like a kick to the gut. Guilt, frustration… grief. That drive to get away from it. From all of it. He squashed the internal uproar, but not soon enough. She had seen it, and took it for a threat. Now her focus darted from him to all across the room - little more than an abandoned shack. Every dark corner, every shadow.

 

 _She’s cautious._ With a sharp sigh, he frowned. “They can’t touch you here.”

 

For a moment it seemed she wouldn’t respond. But then, and with bitter accusation, “I don’t know you.”

 

“Really?” He gave a faint chuckle. “Don’t get out much... do you...? Okay, bad joke. The truth. I’m with the Lea-”

 

“I want to leave.”

 

Nightwing grimaced. That would be a bad call. “Look, you’re scared, I get it-”

 

“ _I don’t know you._ ” She hissed again. Her pupils were slits, and there was an unnatural light flashing in her irises.

 

“If you’d stop _interrupting me_ and let me explain, we could get past that.” He shorted back, brow furrowing sharply.

 

The air between them sizzled menacingly as the girl cycled through emotions. Fear, anger...

 

He braced, remembering that when he’d found her an entire squad in fireproof coveralls had been dispatched to recapture this- this… was she even really human? _Shouldn’t have gotten angry._ She might be capable of anything, risking a fight with her was counterproductive. _I need her to trust me… To at least listen._ “Give it a chance.”

 

What the Institute wanted with the girl, he didn’t know for certain. But it couldn’t be good. He was frustrated by her caution, but he understood it. Even respected it, feral as she was. There were too many gray areas here for anyone with half a mind to feel comfortable.

 

Taking her continued silence and slightly-less-unfriendly stare as an invitation, he began again, “Let’s start with names, okay? I’m Nightwing. I work with the Justice League - you probably know about them, at least. I hope.”

 

She still seemed confused, but the air around them had cooled again. “I am Kitsune Zero-Seven.” The faintest hint of an accent bled into her voice. Oriental, but too indistinct to place. “I am… alone.”

 

Was that fear in her tone? Grief? There was strain, and Nightwing logged it away for future reference. “Kitsune Zero-Seven, hunh? Is that a name or, an identity?” It sounded like a tracking number.

 

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “And I do not know this ‘Justice League’...” She - _Kitsune Zero-Seven_ \- pressed, pupils growing rounder, more humanoid.

 

“Really? Batman, Superman…?”

 

She scowled blankly.

 

“Ugh.. okay. We really are at square one. So, Kitsune Zer-... er, I’m just gonna call you Kit, alright? How long have you been held captive by the Institute?”

 

She let out a sharp sound resembling a growl and pressed back against the wall.

 

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay. You’re free now - you don’t have to go back there. I’m here to help.” He tried, but it was hard to read the cause of her distress.

 

“...I have always belonged to the Institute.”

 

“Always?” Nightwing frowned, “As in, forever-?”

 

With a mournful whimper, she shook her head and curled into herself, “I do not know…Mia, she… she’s…”

 

He had seen that look before. He understood.

 

“They - they… told me I am to blame. I didn’t! I loved her! I didn’t… _I didn’t..._ ” Kit managed, before succumbing to tears.

 

The silence stretched out between them again. Nightwing looked away. The gears were turning, but even so, it was heartfelt when he replied,  “I’m sorry.”

 

She did not answer. The air began to smell strongly of smoke from a wet fire.

  
“Well, look.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I can’t promise anything long-term, but if the Institute’s after you, the safest place for you to be is with the League. What do you say?”


	2. Being Set On Fire Is An Occupational Hazard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kit wants to be a superhero like the ones who saved her from the Institute, but her training session with Nightwing is abruptly cut off by the metahuman's inability to control her powers - or temper. Grayson's been a patient mentor, but now it's time for Kit to finally explain what makes her so dangerous.

NOVEMBER 17, 7:12AM

Kit Friar

 

“Again.”

 

She grimaced, looking up at Nightwing through slitted pupils and wiping the spit from her mouth which was already swelling considerably. They had been at it for nearly an hour, and Kit’s frustration was making the air around her ripple with heat.

 

She tried to push herself up, wincing as her muscles protested sharply.

 

Nightwing knelt and held out a hand, a smirk playing at his lips, “Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

 

“I just don’t see the point.” She growled. Today Nightwing had chosen to spar with her rather than practice drills, but he did not seem to be restraining himself much at all. Their session had been entirely comprised of Kit being sent sprawling ungracefully to the ground. And why? The drills had been mind-numbingly repetitive, but at least she’d understood their purpose.

 

“Maybe that _is_ the point.” He retorted, waggling his fingers in an expectant taunt.

 

“I think you’re just having a row with me.” She snapped, tired of his cryptic and unmatchable methods.

 

Her mentor smirked and opened his mouth to retort, but Kit lunged forward then in the hopes of surprising him.

 

Of course it didn’t work. He was out of range and on his feet in a single motion, countering her fist and knocking her legs out from under her. She yelped, tumbling down past him like some newborn fawn. _Damn!_

 

Nighthawk laughed easily, “Ooh, that was low. You’ll have to do better than that, though. Again.”

Staggering to her feet, Kit charged him, spinning out of the way of his counter-strike and trying to elbow him below the ribs with the momentum. She didn’t see him move, but her attack hit nothing but air as Nightwing’s kick hit her solidly in the chest. All the air whooshed out of her at once. Sitting on her knees and curling into her herself, Kit succumbed to a fit of harsh coughing.

 

“Again.” And not waiting for her to finish getting back up, Nightwing went on the offensive.

 

“HEY!” She threw a forearm up to block, staggering back but managing not to fall. As her heel touched the ground again, a bright flare of energy snapped off it, crackling with heat.

 

Nightwing’s eyes narrowed.

 

Kit’s aura hummed audibly, and the heat in her palms was beginning to hurt. She didn’t care. Now she was angry. “This _isn’t_ helping!” Fueled by raw emotion, Kit gave up trying to out-maneuver her opponent and went after him with a deliberate conniption.

 

He backed up, staying infuriatingly out of reach, but looking off-balance for the first time. _Yes!_

 

“Watch it!” He hissed, rolling out of the way of another kick that sent off spirals of violent light in a wide arc. But she didn’t notice the trail smoking off her, Kit’s feral gaze was honed in on Nightwing.

 

Uppercut. Sweep. Uppercut. Jab. Spin. Kick. Forget strategy, there was only action and reaction. Nightwing was no longer blocking or making any counterattack, he was doing good just to stay out of her way.

 

“Kit, _stop!_ ”

 

 _Stop?_ When she’d finally gained an edge? No way! Not until she’d proven she could keep up!

 

Realizing she wasn’t planning on listening, Nightwing halted his retreat, catching her fist mid-swipe with a braced forearm. He probably would have undercut her again and put an end to Kit’s assault, but there was a flash of light as the contact spurted an arc of blue-green flame which engulfed him from fingertip to elbow. Nightwing let out an exclamation of pain as the ripples of the concussion sent both of them sprawling apart.

 

It was like being hit with a flashbang. For a moment the world was indistinct and her ears rang sharply. The wind was knocked - no, _yanked_ \- out of her, and all of Kit’s limbs went numb at the tips. The golden glow drained from her irises and palms, and the air around Kit suddenly smelled ashy as her anger was extinguished by cold shock.

 

Kit shuddered, pushing her hair out of her eyes only to yelp as the touch sent a sharp sting through her hands. Burned. Both of them.

 

How much raw force had she _hit him_ with?

 

She hurried to her feet, staggering dizzily in the wake of such an exertion.

 

_A lot. Too much._

 

“Nightwing!”

 

The acrobat grimaced, clasping his injured hand with his good one and wincing. His suit was in tatters up to the shoulder, burned clean through. Even from this distance, she could tell the damage was deep.

 

“I- I didn’t mean to- are you alright?” Kit scrambled forward and reached out in a tentative gesture, but hesitated to touch him.

 

For an utterly terrifying moment, Nightwing only stared at her. When he finally spoke, his voice was steely, far removed from the playful banter of minutes before. “I told you to _stop._ ”

 

Kit gaped at him, then looked down at her own hands, horrified. What could she say in self-defense? Nothing. Her fist was already an angry red, beginning to throb. How could she have lost control like that, and not even _noticed?_ Against _Nightwing_ no less - her own teammate!

 

_It’s not the first time._

 

No. _But she had thought…_ She had been getting better.

 

“We’re done for today.” Nightwing rose. There was something heavy in his tone that set her on edge.

 

Just like that? It couldn’t be so simple. She had wounded him. Badly. As he strode past her, the true gravity of Kit’s failure left a sickness in her gut. This misstep would certainly cause Nightwing and the others to question her value to the team - and with nowhere else to go otherwise, that was a terrifying possibility.

 

As he vanished behind the door - presumably on the way to the med bay - her thoughts raced. _I can’t leave it like that._ Rushing after him into the hall, she called out, “W-wait!”

 

Nightwing paused, scowling. His face was wrinkled with discomfort.

 

She opened her mouth, but now the words would not form.

 

Studying her with an intensity that only made Kit feel more uncomfortable, Nightwing responded suddenly, “You can’t control it, can you?”

 

Heart racing, lips pursed, Kit hesitated.

 

Her silence only seemed to confirm Nightwing’s suspicions. “That’s how you escaped the Institute, isn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question. “Raw anger. And it got out of control. The burns weren’t from them, you injured yourself trying to…” A dark cloud of suspicions settled over the hero. “Were you even _trying_ to escape the Institute that day?”

 

“Yes!” Kit shot back quickly, unsettled by how much her mistake had revealed and scrambling to get ahead of it. “No- I mean… I-... ” Too many questions. _It’s complicated._ He would not understand.

 

Maybe she could show him? “Let me- let me fix it.” Kit entreated, posture hunched with guilt as she gestured to her handiwork. She had never intended to hurt him. But what did intention matter, now it was done? “Please, I can at least fix _that.”_

 

Would Nightwing even allow her so close, after what had happened? Though his brow furrowed, he didn’t move. Hesitant, she nonetheless took this as an invitation.

 

The sore, swelling fingers resisted the motion as Kit gingerly reached for Nightwing’s arm to inspect. Glancing up at him briefly, she asked, “Hold still”, and then laid her palms down over the burn. His lip twitched at the contact, the only outward indication of what was surely a great surge of pain. Would she be able to hold up, as well?

 

The expulsion of energy had taken its toll, and already exhaustion was setting in. But she was pretty sure she had enough left.

 

Closing her eyes, Kit focused on the energy flowing through her, channeling it into the wound. Thin green tendrils ribboned out of her palm, flickering like the fire from before - but this time the warmth did not burn.

 

As the aura rippled over Nightwing’s arm, his pain echoed back and Kit had to grind her teeth to keep from whimpering. _What have I done?_

 

 _Stay focused._ If the sensation overwhelmed her, then all this would just be wasted energy. She did as Mia had taught. _Balance_. Bring it back into balance. The burn was particularly angry, and the process was complex, but under her guidance, the wound faded until any indication of its existence was gone. …Aside from the charred mess of his suit, which couldn’t be helped.

 

When she was satisfied, Kit open her eyes again, letting out a shaky breath as the bright trails in and around her fingers dissipated. She felt dangerously lightheaded, but Nightwing’s body had healed.

 

“Good as new.” Kit supplied weakly, with a heartless smile. That didn’t make up for her causing the injury in the first place, but maybe… _at least_ _maybe,_ it was something.

 

Lifting his arm to inspect it, Nightwing frowned. Was he angry? Disappointed? She wished she could read past that grim facade of shadows. Brow furrowing, his attention was drawn to her own blistering hands. Even when he spoke, Kit wasn’t sure what to think: “And you?”

 

Swallowing, Kit shook her head. “It’s fine.” In truth, it stung terribly. But she didn’t have the strength left to cleanse them right now. And regardless, the last thing she wanted to admit to now was more weakness. Maybe he would even believe it, since she could summon fire… and everything.

 

But Nightwing did not seem convinced. “I think it’s time we talked about your powers.”

 

Kit nodded automatically. Her heart was pounding. She felt a bit wobbly. Actually… she needed to sit down soon. Like, _now_.

 

Her legs turned to jello and Kit dropped to her knees, garnering a startled huff from her companion.

 

Kneeling so that they were eye-level, Nightwing pressed, “ _Kit._ ” His voice was not unkind - but steel was in it. And through the ringing in her ears, she realized there was no avoiding it any longer. She found comfort in that certainty.

 

“I just need a minute.” Taking a deep breath, Kit tried to sew her thoughts together. It was not as easy as knitting up burns. Nightwing waited patiently.

 

Dr. Ryu had repeated the mandate of Kit’s existence enough times that she knew it by heart, and her tone was free of inflection as she parroted, “Project Kitsune was created with the expressed goal to create artificial metahumans capable of generating rapid oxidation within any given environment.”

 

“You set things on fire.” He summarized.

 

Her lip quirked, “Yes. That’s… what they wanted, anyway. I think Dr. Ryu was trying to tap into something like chakra, a spiritual energy that could be channeled into a tangible physical force.” She quoted Mia next, smiling wanly at the memory: “But the nature of metahuman genes is unstable - given to unexpected _surprises._

 

“I can’t do it on purpose - start fires. It’s tied to my spirit, somehow; they didn’t really understand what they’d made. I don’t either. But in order to expel enough raw energy to burn something, my own state of being has to be equally unstable. Degenerative even. Things like anger… _fear_ …”

 

Looking down at her burns, she continued, “That’s why it hurts _me,_ too. It’s my own life-force bleeding out as raw heat. _A lot of it._ ”

 

Nightwing frowned thoughtfully, flexing the arm she had burned, “And the _re-_ generation?”

 

He had not rejected her outright, and this gave Kit a small measure of confidence as she continued, “Light gives us… everything! Life itself! And that - _that_ \- I can channel. The chaos necessarily drives a need for balance. When I touch someone, it’s like a ray, a ripple.” There was an eagerness in her tone as she struggled to make him understand. “I can feel what they feel. Tap into it. And when I focus, I can use my own… aura, to restore things to their natural state. But there’s a drawback...”

 

“Which is?” Nightwing demanded sharply, and her previous hopes that she might be winning him back over were dashed. She understood that he was cautious, maybe for good reason. She realized gaining any semblance of trust would take effort. But this did not lessen the sting.

 

Kit winced, and gestured to his arm, “The strength your body would have used to close that over time - I used my own vitality to provide all of it at once. It’s a helluva calorie burner.”

  
Silence consumed them as Nightwing processed this, and Kit felt the exhaustion beginning to overwhelm even her anxiety. She leaned back against the wall. Weakly, she entreated, “Please… The green girl read my mind, right? She knows. They wanted me to hurt people. But Mia told me I don’t have to. And I don’t _want to_ . I want to _help_ . Like you do. Don’t make me leave.”


	3. Replace the Batteries to Your Smoke Alarm Twice A Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a run-in with her creator, Ryu, Kit grows increasingly off-balance and frustrated with her lack of control. A fit of rage leads to a painful realization, and she attempts to flee the scene of her destruction.

May 4, 1:37AM

Kit Friar

 

 _“Thought you could_ what? _Escape! Pah! My beauty, my creation - Kitsune! You can not escape. You were born for this. Your every molecule was tailored to suit_ our _purpose. The Institute is in your blood. I am disappointed that such a promising experiment would lack such basic levels of introspection.”_

 

Over and over it played back in her head, cutting through her focus like static. She felt the heat pulsing in her fingertips. It was not enough to spark or burn, not yet. But the noise rattling around inside Kit’s brain grew ever more nauseating, and it was only a matter of time before the instability gave way to violent degeneration.

 

Kit knew that the eventuality was unavoidable. She could no more halt a lightning strike. Even so, a childlike petulance spurred her to resist the looming outburst. Contain it, even as her gut grew sick with pain and the ringing in her ears became a clamour of discord. With a flare of indignance, she kicked the _ude makiwara_ with all the raw force she could muster, and imagined it was Ryu facing her wrath, instead.

 

Kit tried to picture her nemesis looking caught unawares, but found it a fragile illusion. Behind her imagination the same disquieting look of absolute expectation that he always wore shone through. _“You can not escape.”_

 

Ryu was far from this place. But he knew she was here, and that gave him power. Gave his words meaning. He could find her anywhere. Anytime. Rip her away from the people who had given her a home and subject his will upon her. Kit would never be anything more than a tool in a test tube.

 

She struck the wooden post again, wincing as her unwrapped wrist slipped clumsily off the heavy target. Her knuckles were red even through the calluses Kit had built up over months of endless training. It was reckless, painful. She didn’t care. She clung to the senseless hope that if she could wear her body down hard enough, fast enough, it would quench the fire kindling in her chest and diminish the inescapable explosion. Raw and hot, the blood in her veins let off an eerie glow as it pooled inside her swelling fingers.

 

 _I’m_ not _a tool! I don’t have to be!_ Wisps of tangible frustration trailed after the girl as she jerked around her training target. The minutes ticked by. And rather than exhaustion draining the desperation, Kit found her efforts exacerbating it. No matter how much she poured out, the slick, bitter venom of Ryu’s influence spread like a poison to fill the space in an ever-greater quantity. And, mounting with it, her drive for self-destruction.

 

_“Your every molecule-”_

 

_I am me!_

 

_You belong to Ryu. Always._

 

_I am me!_

 

 _You’ll_ never _be free._

 

 _“I am ME!”_  With a harsh scream, she swung a bone-breaking kick at the sandbag, and the void consumed Kit. All light drained from her body towards the point of contact, flickering out for the briefest of moments before pulsing back out across the room in a sweeping arcs of raw energy. Tongues of fire lunged indiscriminately like hell-serpents, consuming everything in a six foot radius.

 

Everything went numb, and for a long, blessed moment all Kit could hear was the throbbing of blood in her ears. There was nothing else. She swayed, down on her knees, staring blankly at the angry red and black veins spreading over her shaking hands.

 

_What have you done._

 

It was a good thing nobody else had been here. She might have hurt them.

 

_Like I was made to do._

 

The stench of burning fabric and flesh filled the air, and an alarm above her sent water raining down from countless sprinklers. Still in a daze, Kit nonetheless staggered back to her feet, abandoning the raining room and the charred training bag. It was a League base, but the alarm would bring unwanted attention and the world could not be permitted to see her… especially not now.

 

 _Dick will be pissed when he finds out._ Kit thought hazily. Maybe she could hide it. Rest a bit… heal herself. Destroy the burnt things. Before he got the chance to know. She could lie about the rest.

 

As a child, Kit would have sought out Mia after an episode. Mia would have calmed her, bound the wounds. Made it okay again. But Mia was gone, now. _I killed her._

 

The pain that thought would usually have caused did not seem to be present, now. Vaguely Kit wondered why. An ashen cloud had settled over her - the freezing void left behind when she had expelled her own life force in a burst of uncontrolled destructive energy.

 

Something sticky trickled over her face and down the side of her neck. As her senses pulsed in and out of functionality Kit slowly managed to register that her face was bleeding. From her nose? Ears? Eyes? All of them, maybe. She wasn’t sure. Her effort was spent, and she was coherent enough to recognize a blackout coming.

 

From somewhere distant the thought occurred to her that she ought to be in terrible pain, and to feel nothing at all meant something far more serious than a brief lapse in self-control. The light continued draining out of her, like a wound still bleeding. _That’s new._

 

It _would_ stop, though, right? It always did. She tried to reassure herself as she limped out of the building - soaked, shaking, and burnt.

 

Kit didn’t make it far. Barely two blocks, before weakness overwhelmed her, and the laboratory experiment tripped into the shadows of the alley. Staggering, she fell against the wall in a futile effort to prop herself up. The taste on her tongue was metallic and it was difficult to breath. _Shiiiit._ She thought, slurred.

 

“Shit.” A blurred echo, barely recognizable.

 

Squinting, she tried to find the voice that had spoken through the fog in her brain.

 

They came close, materializing from the shadows like a ghost. They were speaking, she could see their mouth moving, but not all the words reached her ears. “Kit … did this? … attacked?”  Each heartbeat was ear-shattering, and the space between them a black hole.

 

 _It’s Dick._ She realized, finally. She tried to answer, but she was slipping. With a moan, her vision went dark and Kit lost what little control she had left. Arms closed around her as Grayson intercepted the fall, and the sudden burning pain that arced through her charred skin at the contact was enough to jerk Kit back into consciousness.

 

Easing her into a sitting position, Nightwing touched her forehead, brushed the hair back from her ears and narrowed his eyes. Pupils floating beneath fluttering lids, Kit struggled to focus on him as he checked her pulse.

 

His grim expression turned to raw fear. “Don’t you … out… _Kit._ Hear… ? … focused. … some help.”

 

Red drool trickled down her chin. She tried to lift her arm, but the effort was fruitless. She could no longer resist the grasp of oblivion. _“Sorry.”_ But whether she actually managed to say it, Kit had no way of knowing for certain.

 

Nightwing yelled something else, something angry - or hurt. Kit drifted into darkness as Grayson lifted her towards the stars.

  
_I will never be free._


	4. Poorly Worded Confessions, Rudely Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kit thinks she's conquered her demons, but a touching reunion with Grayson after a long absence takes a surprising and ultimately unpleasant turn.

AUGUST 23, 11:58PM

Kit Friar

 

A welcome back party. It had just been a small thing. The members who knew her best. M’gann even baked a cake. They’d been excited to see her, they hadn’t probed her for answers and explanations. Everyone _understood_. For the first time, it was like having a home.

 

Still, Nightwing’s absence was keenly felt. Her gaze kept shifting to the corners of the room throughout the affair, but they were always empty. Dick wasn’t there. She did not have the courage to ask about him, she did not want the others to feel she was ungrateful. He surely had somewhere important to be - a hero was never really ‘off-duty.’

 

But when Kit finally retired to her room - exactly as she’d left it, she couldn’t help but wonder why he had been absent. It shouldn’t bother her. Yes, he had other obligations, saving the world, even! But, he had been her… trainer, yes, that was it. And friend, too - for her part.

 

Without Nightwing, Kit would still be a captive of the Institute, ignorant, blind… a tool. She thought maybe she meant as much to him as he meant to her, but it was selfish to want so. Dick saved people all the time, and now she did, too.

 

It just… would have been nice to see him.

 

Her gaze drifted across the room, seeking out the shadows as she crossed to her bed. She was safe here, but caution seemed a habit impossible to kick.

 

“I know that look.”

 

With a yelp, Kit spun. Even seeing it, belief followed slowly.

 

Nightwing grinned, stepping out from the other side of the door. “Looks like my skills are still up to par.”

 

“Dick!” Lunging, Kit wrapped her arms around him before realizing that was probably out of line, and pulling away. She brushed her hair back lamely, chuckling as a loose strand quickly fell back into disarray. “I’m… I-I… It’s good to see you. Again. I didn’t think you were here.”

 

He didn’t jerk back. To her surprise, he even chuckled back, “Sure I came. Just figured you had enough of a crowd as it was.”

 

“Didn’t want to steal the show?”

 

He smirked, reaching forward to push the wayward strand behind her ear again as he met her gaze evenly. “Something like that.”

 

This was unlike him. The banter she knew well, even a certain degree of playful affection - on special occasions. But not… this. This was not the same. Kit’s brow furrowed, and she tensed, pulling his hand down. His palm was hot and sweaty. Weird.

 

“Trying to woo me? Really? You know I’m not like those _other_ girls. I already know you’re an idiot, deep down.” She continued lightly, pushing the unease aside. Kit was not so naive as to think he meant anything by his flirtation - these conversations were harmless, they always had been.

 

But instead of smiling and shooting back a more clever retort, as expected, Dick’s jaw tightened and his smirk wavered. He seemed unsettled - by her reaction? But he was the one being strange!

 

Alarm jolted through her as Nightwing turned around and took a single step away, towards the door. Almost instinctively, Kit followed.

 

“I missed you.” She said, feeling the sudden gap and confused by it.

 

He did not immediately reply. His fist clenched and his head was turned to the side.

 

“Dick…?” Her voice wavered, ripples of heat making the air around Kit into an aura. “What’s wrong.”

 

He made a hissing sound, and Kit didn’t need to touch him to know his state was unstable. “I just - need a minute.”

 

“A minute? But we - we’re only seeing each other again after _months_ !” What was wrong with him all of a sudden! She realized she’d struck a nerve, but how? Only a moment ago there had been _nothing_ but excitement between them both.

 

“ _I know.”_ Dick’s fist unclenched forcefully. He faced her sideways, looking almost hostile. When he spoke, Kit lost any hope of keeping the ‘almost.’ “I _know_ you were _gone_ for six _months._ _I was here_. There was no trace of you…anywhere… and I…”

 

“But I’m here now. And Ryu’s gone.” She sputtered, her aura humming. So much raw anger caught her off guard and now Kit struggled to regain a foothold in the conversation. Shouldn’t he have been pleased? He was the one who had taught her to cover her tracks in the first place! “I had to. You _know_ I had to, too. Right? For the the team. For me. For all of us.”

 

“ _Now_ , yeah.” He replied, bitterly as though she’d missed the point. “Kit.” He spoke her real name. He never did that. “I thought you were dead.”

 

Her eyes widened.

 

“No messages… not one sign - _and I searched_ .”

 

“You’re angry I didn’t _write_ ? Nightwing, you’re the one who taught me to-”

 

“I _KNOW!”_ He shouted, spinning to face her head on again, and she jerked back automatically. “I know…” He repeated, weakly, as though it knocked the wind out of him. “I didn’t want to say any of this. But there it is. I just thought… you would have tried. It wouldn’t have been smart. I would have been upset that you’d done it. But I still- I thought you would’ve. Because the truth is I-”

 

“It’s not my fault you trusted so little in me!” She snapped, hurt by his sudden coldness and the low esteem he seemed to have for her. They were supposed to trust each other better than that. This was uncharacteristically unfair. Kit scowled, crossing her arms as little sparks danced off her fingertips. They stung. “And now you’re wrong, your pride hurts, is that it? The mighty Nightwing, misjudged the sense of his own apprentice! You can’t even get off your high horse long enough to welcome me back from the dead?”

 

“What? No! I-” For a moment he looked shocked, and then the coldness returned even harsher than before. “...Maybe I did.”

 

He turned towards the door and strode away.

 

Again the chasm between them. Kit felt she had done something wrong… something far worse than just speaking out of turn, which she was already regretting. But what?

 

“Dick…” Kit whispered. She reached out, putting a hand on his back. A broiling sea of strong emotions hit her hard enough to set Kit swaying. Anger, fear, hurt… He stopped, and she realized it might not be too late to fix… this.

 

Was it really all because she hadn’t sent him a message? Maybe… he was just so used to being the mastermind, he didn’t deal well with uncertainty. That didn’t seem exactly right, but what else could it be? His mind was made of metal. So much was still a mystery to her. Still she tried: “I’m sorry. For all of it. If there had been a safe way to get in touch I would’ve-”

 

_Wrong words._

 

He left.

 

Kit stood there for a long moment, feeling complete darkness inside for the first time in her life.


	5. The Author Like Cliches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission with Kit in the freezing arctic goes south (HA), and Kit is injured.

NOVEMBER 4, 6:06PM

Dick Grayson

 

_“FERAL!”_

 

It was happening in slow motion. The shot ripped through her gut, and she staggered back, off the platform thirty meters down into sub-zero arctic water. He could watch, but he was powerless to stop it. Nothing in the world would stop it.

 

Couldn’t she heal herself? Would her powers keep her warm enough to offset shock?

 

No. Kit needed focus to heal and the heat was in her blood. There was no time. It was plain in her eyes that she knew it too.

 

With an angry bellow, he spun into the drone beside him, throwing them against their counterpart and then dashing to the control panel.

 

 _‘Alpha team! Do you read? Feral is down. Request emergency evac._ ’ He called, but the mental link was down, no one was listening.

 

 _The mission._ This mission comes first. Hacking in wasn’t hard, but it was time consuming. Why hadn’t he brought a bigger team! If she died, it would be his fault.

 

 _If._ the rogue thought was cynical, mocking. _She was dead the moment she hit water._

 

EMERGENCY

SYSTEM OVERLOAD

-0:40

 

_Time to go._

 

He spun, gaze flashing across the helipad for anything to aid his escape. His suit was insulated, but it might not be enough to keep him from locking up when he hit the icy water.

 

 _There._ Rushing to the glass box, a swift kick shattered the glass. Nightwing swiped the life saver and rebreather, and then dove over the edge just as the hovering platform exploded into flames.

 

The ocean hit him like knives. Without the rebreather he would have sucked in two lungs-full of saltwater. He fought for control of his body again as burning debris rained from the sky.

 

 _Kit!_ Blood loss, cold shock, the falling hovercraft… no way she made it out. But the fear gave him the rush he needed, and Nightwing pushed himself up onto the lifering.

 

A jagged piece of metal hit him hard in the shoulder, ripping his suit and knocking him off the float again. His arm gave a sickening crack and exploded in agony. Dislocated at best. Damn.

 

There wasn’t time to think of the pain.

 

 _“Feral!”_ He called above the grinding, melting metal and crash of waves. _She couldn’t possibly hear me._ _“KIT!”_

 

What if she was still underwater? Dick dove below the surface, dodging the sinking debris and hoping against hope for a miracle.

 

The body of a drone caught his eye, and for a moment he mistook it for her. As seconds became minutes, his desperation reached its peak.

 

And then, there she was. Floating face-up, but unconscious. Maybe it wasn’t too late! His muscles were growing tight and stiff, but Nightwing grabbed her arm and pulled her to a chunk of floating cargo that was still halfway intact.

 

Hauling himself up, and then dragging her as carefully as he could, his heart raced. The icy salt had stanched her bleeding, and he was relieved to find that the wound was not as grievous as he’d feared. If he could get her to shore, maybe he could do something about it.

 

But she wasn’t breathing. No pulse. The warmth that radiated off her was gone. He hissed through his own violent shivering, pushing on her chest and then breathing into her mouth. _There’s still a chance._

 

Minutes dragged by, but he was blind to it. _There’s still a chance._ _There’s still a chance._

 

Finally, she sputtered and expelled a mouthful of seawater, and with an unsteady laugh of relief, Nightwing turned her on her side. “Feral! Feral?”

 

She was still unconscious.

 

But never mind, she was breathing!

 

What was the next step? Rescue hadn’t come, even though the team must have realized the link was down by now.

 

His thoughts were growing hazy and numb along with his hands and feet, but mountains of ice on the horizon caught his attention. _There._

 

He tried using his good arm to pull the raft. It was too slow. Disoriented, Nightwing didn’t think of the current. He dove in, pulling the raft behind him at a painfully sluggish pace that he measured by the rolling of the waves. He did not often consider himself inadequate for lack of powers, but felt the absence keenly here.

 

Memory of what happened next deserted him. For a time there was nothing but the slow, steady swim and the tingle of heat slowly shrinking in his core.

 

He didn’t remember reaching the shore or dragging himself and Feral out of the biting wind to the the cleft in the ice. But it must have happened because that’s where they were now.

 

There was nothing to start a fire. Nothing but their wet clothes for covering. _I’m cold._

 

He realized with a vague panic that Feral had stopped breathing again. Her skin was not warm olive, but a chilling blue. Clumsy with numbness, Nightwing struggled to pull off her wet garment before it stiffened with ice, and administer CPR one more time.

 

A last burst of adrenaline set his heart pounding, and he was sweating. From out of nowhere, he remembered that this meant danger. The freeze would kill them both if help didn’t arrive soon.

 

Five. Ten. Twenty minutes. Her face was blurry and out of focus. Swaying and out of breath, he rest his head on her heart, feeling tears of strain freeze on his cheek. _It’s too late. It’s too late. It’s too late._

 

_She’s dead._

 

“ _Kit,_ ” He gasped weakly, calling her by name in the faint hope that it might stir a reaction. “C-C’Mon… st-t-stay with me… Kit - please.” It was little more than a beg. “Fight this… I _know you can.”_

 

_Dead. Forever. Not a trick. Not again._

 

_Thwump-..._

 

The faintest beat. Nightwing gave a gash of a breath. What now…? It was hard to remember.

 

Heat…

 

Mit- Miti-... Mitigate? Something. He had been taught but he could not recall. Kit gave off warmth… that was her power, he remembered that. Yes. She was clever. They needed to stay close. It was all he could think about.

 

Nightwing fumbled for several more minutes, trying to pull his tattered black suit off. It was soaked through, now hardened. He was wearing ice. His dislocated arm was especially difficult to use, but at least it didn’t hurt. It was too cold for pain or fear, now.

 

Sliding up deeper into the cleft, but not touching the frozen walls, he pulled her chest against his. As close as they could get. _Like being one another’s blanket;_ it was a single clear thought, like a pulse.

 

She wasn’t warm. He couldn’t feel her closeness.

 

_Thwump-..._

 

But she was alive.

 

_Still. A chance. Not. Dead. Not… Again…_

 

He was so tired. He just needed to rest… just a little.

 

And then the darkness consumed him, drowning out his senses entirely.


	6. Feelings Are Hard and I Want A Do-Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grayson wakes up in the hospital after the accident which nearly deprived him of his life. He insists on seeing Kit, who comes to in a delirious frenzy - only furthering the guilt Nightwing feels for putting her in a position to be so badly harmed. It seems the pair are no closer to resolving the divide between them.

NOVEMBER 8, 3:07PM

Dick Grayson

 

The light came back slowly, and with it a buzz of monitors and voices still too far away to interpret. Dick felt a surge of irritation. He wanted to sleep.

 

“He’s stable.” Someone echoed, and it hurt his ears. He managed a grimace.

 

“Grayson, can you hear me?” Another voice… familiar but unrecognizable all the same.

 

He moaned. Or did he only dream of doing it? His body was unresponsive and slow, but he finally got his eyes open. Bruce, Kaldur, and Barb all stood over him, looking relieved.

 

Well, maybe not Bruce. He looked about the same as always. But he was _here_ which was meaningful enough in its own right.

 

“Friend.” Kaldur spoke now, “You were on ice for almost 18 hours. Miss Martian barely sensed your presence… We were not sure you could be saved.”

 

He understood. But he could not remain conscious. Dick’s lids closed and the blackness washed over him again. At least it wasn’t cold anymore. His last thought was to wonder numbly where Kit was. She was no longer beside him.

 

~*~

NOVEMBER 9, 4:21AM

Dick Grayson

 

The next time he woke, the room was different. Only Kaldur was present. It was easier to move, and drowsily Nightwing tried to push himself upright only to find that his arm was restrained.

 

“Take it slow.” Aqualad advised, standing when he realized Dick was awake. “Your shoulder was fractured in the fight, and badly torn in your efforts to save Feral.”

 

Alarm spread through him, “Kit - is she…?”

 

Kaldur hesitated.

 

 _No!_ The monitor on his left began buzzing urgently. _There was still a chance!_

 

“She is alive. Against all odds.” Aqualad answered heavily. Before Nightwing could embrace that relief, his friend continued, “But Feral’s powers made treatment… _volatile_ . And her condition was far worse than your own. There were…  complications.”

 

“But she’s _alive?_ ” Kaldur had said this… what were _complications?_

 

Aqualad nodded, “In body, yes. Her mind remains clouded. It has been four days.”

 

“Can’t Miss Martian- or Zatanna-”

 

“We are doing all we can.” Kaldur assured. “No options are off the table.”

 

“Let me… see her.”

 

“You are still too weak. She is in good hands, and you must recover your strength.”

 

“Wheel me in there if you have to.” He insisted, trying to express agitation but the emotion was dull with exhaustion. “...It’s my fault.”

 

Kaldur frowned, then, to Nightwing’s surprise, smiled softly. He knelt against the cot, resting a hand on Dick’s arm. “No, my friend. You are the reason she yet lives. If not for your actions, placing your own life in great peril - it is certain she would have been lost.”

 

That was little comfort. _If not for him,_ Kit would never have been in the position to need saving.

 

“You made the right call, Nightwing.” Aqualad continued, sensing the disbelief, “Even the best of us cannot account for every possibility.”

 

“But I should have. This time, I should have.”

 

“Will you not hear reason, old friend?”

 

He scowled.

 

Kaldur sighed, acquiescing. “I will speak with the nurse.”

 

* * *

 

NOVEMBER 9, 7:19AM

Kit Friar

 

The light tugged at her. But it always did. Not realizing this was something different, Kit ignored it at first, her more immediate concern being to understand where she was, and why. She couldn’t remember anything… her efforts brought back the battle atop the helipad, Nightwing screaming her name, the searing pain of a gunshot and the realization that she no longer had any options.

 

But that seemed very long ago. She felt there was more. The corners were just too dark to see.

 

Ruefully, Kit faced the light again. It stung her eyes, the first indication that something was different. She tried to move, but couldn’t. The effort sent waves of pain rippling through her body with increasing intensity. Panic began to set it.

 

She wrestled for focus in the fog, but her thoughts were too hazy, and her blood felt… diluted. She could not heal herself. This was most terrifying of all.

 

_Where am I? What happened!_

 

Shapes began to come into focus. Whitewashed. A laboratory?

 

_The Institute!_

 

Her body was clumsy and heavy, but adrenaline sent needles of heat through her, weakened though she might be. The world was spinning as Kit jolted upright, ripping out the cables tying her to the bed and setting off a cacophony of alarms. She could not be a prisoner! Not again!

 

They must have found her… after… and drugged her… and….

 

 _Get out! Get away!_ Like a frightened animal, she staggered across the room and threw herself at the door, ears buzzing from all high pitched monitors. It was locked. She threw herself against cold metal with futile repetition, until someone in a lab coat tried to enter.

 

“Miss, you’re sa-”

 

She bowled him over, falling herself in impact and lying stunned for a moment on the sterile-smelling tile floor.

 

_Escape!_

 

She crawled to her feet, reaching inside for the light that would hold her captors at bay and give her the strength to escape. But she was cold. She could only run. Dazed and confused, Kit was soon lost in the maze of the hallways and doors that all looked the same. Personnel yelled in alarm, called for help, but all stayed well out of her way.

 

 _Where_ am _I?_ Exhaustion was quickly overtaking her. Kit could not stay conscious much longer.

 

Suddenly there were arms around her. Dragging her down in a firm embrace that was inescapable. She shrieked at her captor - trying to summon the burning, but weakness was a poison in her veins.

 

“Kit- Kit please! It’s _me._ ”

 

The familiarity of the voice took a moment to process. _Dick?_

 

Her head was heavy, she felt sick. It was familiar. The haze in her memory shifted, and all at once Kit recalled being _here_ before, in an icy wasteland. Nightwing constricting her, dragging her away from the darkness that pulled her down, ignoring her protests to be allowed to sleep.

 

“ _You!_ ” Feral screamed viciously, lost in the vision. She resisted him with as much futile ferocity as she could muster, even as bright spots of colour began pulsating around the corners of her vision.

 

But he did not let go. He spun her to face him, even as her fists struck his chest. Kit’s flings were like paper, and he was unyielding stone. Somewhere down the hall, others were shouting. Running. Approaching. Pinning her here.

 

Unable to escape, the frantic, fragile thudding of her heart jogged Kit’s memory further. There had been ice, and a howling wind. It’d been deathly cold but her pain was faded and the heat was returning to her chest when Dick had demanded she… demanded she _stay._ Stay where?

 

She remembered… the light fading. But flickering at his presence. He would not let her go. He had dragged her back… He had… She was dying, and he breathed light back into her.. Touched her, and held her there.

 

Kit’s cries deteriorated into choking sobs as reality set in. _He found me. He saved me._

 

An echo of warmth pulsed out of her. Forever, it seemed Kit would be in Nightwing’s debt. Her mentor. Her friend. Her _hero._

 

 _“You…_ ” _Thank you._ He needed to know what he had done for her mattered and her pathetic sobbing would not suffice to express it. But she could not control her tremors. All she could do was weep.

 

Ceasing her struggles, Kit fell against him, trembling with shock. Hot tears bubbled down her cheeks.

 

~*~

Dick Grayson

 

They lifted her from his arms, all fervor gone from Kit’s limbs. There was a flurry of motion carrying her to the cot and rushing her away.

 

A first hand clasped Dick’s shoulder. He glanced up to see Bruce, solemn and impassive. “She’s likely still delirious. It will take a several hours before Kit is coherent enough to make sense of her surroundings.” His heavy tone carried wise words. But it was no comfort.

 

That word was ringing in Dick’s ears: ‘ _You!’_

 

_Him._

 

He had put her in this state. And, delirious or not, she knew it.

 

Dick’s gaze drifted back to the turn in the hall were Kit had been taken away. She had _tried_ to burn him. And that was most meaningful of all. Things between them would never be the same. Nightwing ran through the scenarios in his head, and somehow they all ended the same way they started. With him losing her.

 

“Mr. Grayson, thank goodness!” A nurse beside them huffed, bending at the knees as she struggled to regain her breath.

 

When he did not respond, she frowned and turned to Bruce. “Sir, I apologize. We did not anticipate - She was comatose! In all my years I’ve never seen such a struggle. You would think that girl was one of those super-humans, or something!”

 

Wayne laughed, brushing off the idea like an unwanted gnat. “Fear can make superhumans out of the most common men… or women. Once the doctor has confirmed my _niece_ is stable, I will be taking her home to finish recovering with family. Please make the necessary preparations.”

 

The nurse nodded, “Of course sir, after a skiing accident like that, I can only imagine you’ll be wanting to keep her close.”

  
_Skiing accident._ So that was the story. Dick scowled, feeling drained. He lacked the conviction to reply, even as Bruce reaffirmed, “Thank you. It will be good to put this whole ordeal behind us.”


	7. The Kissing Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grayson and Kit have been keeping their distance from one another since the accident, not realizing both blame themselves for the fateful accident. Kaldur decides to help them out a bit.

December 21st 11:55PM

Kit Friar

 

“Kit, you are looking tired. Does something trouble you?”

 

Kaldur’s question had been innocuous enough. But half an hour later and somehow she had told him everything.

 

It was like a game. An awful game she could never win, and never ended, and only repeated the same moves over and over. At first she’d told herself Nightwing was just keeping busy. Recovery had been slow and he was pushing his boundaries, eager to return to the team after so long cooped up in a hospital bed. She understood that. She didn’t mind.

 

But as weeks turned to months, and he continued to be absent or distant whenever she returned from her own missions, and never paired on assignment with her… Kit could not help but believe her instincts were correct, and there was more to it than bad timing.

 

On the rare occasions they did find themselves near one another, the air was tense and their voices halting. Even on their worst days, it hadn’t been like this. They might as well be strangers. She missed the ease of banter between them.

 

In fact, Kit could not recall a single _real_ conversation with Dick since the near-fatal assignment which had put both of them in critical condition. But whether the distance was intentional or not, the weight of all that remained unsaid hung between them like an open wound, gone untended for far too long.

 

The Atlantean seemed to sympathize. Perhaps even truly understand, somehow. He had listened patiently, but here he spoke, “You must not blame yourself. What the two of you have been through… it will take some time to heal.”

 

Kit disagreed. She’d already had a lot of time to think about what happened. Dick nearly died trying to save her, the mission failed, and not a day passed where she did not curse her own inadequacy. It jeopardized everything.

 

“You are a part of this family.” Kaldur insisted, “You have earned your place on the team. Do not doubt that. It is impossible to know what might have happened if another had been present in your stead. I trust you with my life.”

 

It was something, at least. And she thanked him. Even so - the others may not blame Kit, but _Nightwing_ had _been there_. He had watched it happen. He had _suffered_ for it. For Dick, this couldn’t possibly be so easy to overlook.

 

Kaldur’s expression had grown dark and unreadable here. But she did not dwell on it, her own ruminations were shadowy enough.

 

It hurt. She owed him so much - everything, maybe. And knowing he resented her for that, knowing what he’d put on the line for her… was not an easy burden to bear. He was justified in setting their friendship aside. But the ache left in Dick’s place was worse than any physical wound. Things had changed between them. Maybe forever.

 

She supposed she just wanted closure - to hear him say it out loud. And she needed to tell him that she understood, that she was grateful for all that he had given her.

 

“What you ask is fair.” Aqualad affirmed solemnly, but still there was something he seemed to be omitting which made her uneasy. “In this case, if answers are what you truly desire, I believe you must ask Nightwing yourself.”

 

“I don’t even know where to find him.” She’d replied lamely.

 

Kaldur was thoughtful for a moment, and then, “I may be able to assist.”

 

* * *

 

So now, here she found herself, standing outside a decrepit looking house while snow fell fast and heavy from the sky. How fitting, to meet him here. Where it all began. And now, maybe where it would end.

 

Dipping her head into her collar, Kit shivered in the cold, brushing off the painful memories of a freezing ocean grave, and wrestled for the nerve to step inside. Surely he’d seen her standing here by now, but Nightwing didn’t appear in any fashion. Aqualad was right. If she wanted to see him, Kit would have to open the door herself.

 

_It must be clean before it can heal._

 

With a heavy sigh, Kit stepped into the house. The faint glow of her aura gave her some perspective in the dusty room. A tattered rug under rotting furniture and a busted glass table. Cobwebs thick against every surface. “Grayson?”

 

No answer. She grimaced, pushing an old bookshelf aside to find the hidden panel that would open up a way into Nightwing’s waystation.

 

He was waiting on the other side. A dark, immobile figure, eerily similar to his old mentor. “Feral.” Something tired in his voice. She took it for disdain, and winced.

 

“I know you don’t want to see me.” She began, preempting any harmful dismissal he might be about to voice. “I promise, once I’ve said my piece, I’ll be gone. Just… listen. At least, okay? Please.”

 

Nightwing’s brow furrowed, his arms unfolded. In another context she might have recognized it as confusion - but Kit was sure she understood Dick’s reason for avoiding her, and saw hostility in the motion instead.

 

“You don’t need to do that.” He sighed, grimacing deeply as he looked away.

 

“Yes. I do.” Kit felt her conviction waver. _Quick is clean._ Everything started spilling out, before she could think better of it, “You were always there, from the very start. And that meant more to me than you could ever know - that you would - even, even give me the chance to be part of the team, to be something more. And ever since - ever since the _ice_ \- I - can’t stop thinking how you-” A sting built up in the corners of her eyes; she shut them tightly and tried to rub the emotion away with the back of her hand. Kit’s lips were taut. Tiny flares of energy spiraled out of her fingertips, and the shadows around them pulsed in time with Kit’s unstable aura. _Pathetic!_

 

“I’m _sorry._ ”

 

His interruption jogged her out of focus. Darkness blanketed the room. “You’re w _hat?_ ” She frowned. _Sorry?_ Sorry that he had given up on her? Sorry that he had offered her too much trust?

 

Nightwing swallowed, looking a bit like a child that had been caught misbehaving, “...I know that you’re angry. You have every right to be.”

 

Anger was not the word she would have chosen for herself, but before Kit could say so, Dick continued, frustrated: “I get it. After what I did to you? I messed up, and you paid for it. So you don’t have to tell me. I’m keeping my distance. There’s no reason to drag it out.”

 

For a moment she only stared. “But.. I was the one who got shot.” Kit pointed out blankly, feeling a sense of emotional whiplash that left her disoriented. “You-”

 

“I only thought about the mission.” He finished, looking a little off-balance himself, “I made a bad call and I…”

 

“You mean you don’t… blame me? _”_  She almost laughed as the realization set in. The look on Aqualad’s face when she had shared her unease was beginning to make sense. The Atlantean must have already been aware.

 

“Blame _you_?” Nightwing didn’t seem to find it amusing. He looked mortified, “For following my orders? For nearly _dying_ over it?”

 

A number of canny remarks sprang to mind, but she sensed now was not the time for them.

 

“That day at the hospital.” Dick’s voice was strained, wracked with a guilt which now sharply contrasted Kit’s own understanding of the space between them.

 

She remembered it. She remembered being trapped in a nightmare and Nightwing the one to wake her from it. All these weeks, _two months,_ and had he really spent them believing she hated him for it? Kit’s gut turned into a knot altogether new, but certainly not better. “No.”

 

Kit’s hands reached up to brush either side of his face, and he flinched at the contact. She hesitated. Dick did not pull away, though clearly a large part of him wanted to.

 

Tentatively, Kit pulled Nightwing's mask away and studied his features, fingers sliding absently down to his chest. “You don’t understand.” So much time, so many adventures, and still the two of them were doing _this._

 

“You idiot.” She mumbled finally, one hand closing into a fist. The air between them rippled. “You really thought-? Dick,” A weak chuckle from her raised his brow, “How could you possibly? I love you.”

 

An airplane could have crashed outside in that moment and neither would have noticed. Dick’s eyes grew big as saucers. Kit’s did too, as she realized she’d misspoken. Or maybe spoken too much.

 

“A- as a friend I mean. Of course. I love you, _as a friend._ We are… still friends, right?”, She tailored off, her voice faint and strained. Rippling with nervous energy, her eyes focused anywhere but in Nightwing’s direction.

 

Kit’s heart was wild and erratic between her ribs, but as her fingers lingered on Dick’s chest, she realized that beneath her palm another pulse throbbed in equal measure. His hand reached up to clasp her own, and she stared stupidly at the gesture for several seconds.

 

Cautiously, Kit met his gaze again. His expression remained a mask of stillness, but the subtle lines of his face were familiar now. The stillness _was_ a mask, and nothing more.

 

The flicker of a smirk pulled at his mouth. “ _Friends?_ ”

 

_No! No. Impossible_. She was mistaken, delusional, definitely! Cheeks burning, her aura pulsed anxiously in the low light as Kit’s tongue ran away with her. “Obviously, I mean but maybe I’m mistaken and if you don’t feel the same way I’m not asking you to reciproca-”

 

The abrupt persuasion of his lips on hers silenced all protest, as Kit felt her mind go blank and her body drawing forward, closer, until the space between them was gone. She thought for a moment she’d lost her mind. She was still in a coma.

 

When they finally pulled apart, Dick’s forehead pressed against hers and he huffed, “I should have… told you… ages ago.”

 

“Yes…”, She gasped wryly. Insanity or not, Kit clung to it, kissing him again with ravenous insistence, “…you…” He gave in, frantically drawing closer. “…should have…”, Kit’s embrace tightened as they swayed in time. “…you idi- _ooot-!_ ” He swept her off her feet, breathing with her as he lifted her easily into the air.

 

She let out a high-pitched “ _mmph”_ , her palms humming with soothing warmth as they ran over his chest and wrapped around his neck, pulling him down.

 

“That tickles.” Dick mumbled, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

 

Her own flashed back, fingers curling against his suit. It occurred to Kit to wonder which one of them had been the most in need of healing in the end, and what machinations of fate had thrown them together. She wondered whether in another time or place their paths might never have crossed.

 

But she believed in fate, and that every lonely footstep had led them both to exactly this moment in time. It was right, and it was good, and the light in her heart was ultimately stronger than everything that had tried to squander it.


End file.
